


the unspecified possibility of forever

by NicolleOrgana



Category: Sue Thomas: F.B.Eye
Genre: AU, Episode: s03e19 Endings and Beginnings, F/M, but... it's not really the end at all, the ending Jack and Sue deserved, utter tooth rotting fluff and you know what? I'm not even a little sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-28 06:38:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19806766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicolleOrgana/pseuds/NicolleOrgana
Summary: Series finale AU. A chance encounter on what Jack believes is Sue's last day.





	the unspecified possibility of forever

**Author's Note:**

> I am absolutely still working on "Holy Night," but I'd had this piece halfway finished for a while and was hit with a sudden bout of inspiration to work on it. What can I say? When the muses come knocking you don't question em.

~*~

The clock on Jack’s living room wall ticked by loudly in the otherwise silent apartment, marching ever onward, and with every tick that echoed against the walls Jack felt the knot in his stomach grow tighter, the nausea creep slightly further in.

_Tick._

One second closer to inevitable heartbreak.

_Tick._

She was leaving.

_Tick._

The clock struck midnight, and Jack felt his stomach sink all the way to his feet as the knowledge that it was now officially Sue’s last day really struck home.

It had been the longest and most unbearable week of his life — and yet somehow it had flown by in an instant. And now it was here. Her last day in their department before she was scheduled to board a plane and begin her exciting new life… her exciting new life without them. Without _him_.

How could he have been so stupid?

He’d had chances… so _many_ damned chances… But he’d chickened out, he’d said _next time_ , said _someday_. He hadn’t really thought she would wait around forever, had he? But he supposed… he was arrogant, and maybe he had thought that. Or, he’d _hoped_ , anyway.

Not that he thought she was in any way leaving because he hadn’t made a move… but then, he hadn’t offered her up any reason to stay, either.

And now she was leaving. Leaving her job, leaving the team, leaving _him_.

He tried to swallow down the sudden pressure building in his throat.

He could see it now, picture it all too easily, vividly in his mind, as the future stretched out in front of him. Devoid of _her_. Empty and long and lonely and… _certain_ —

— there would be misty eyes and warm embraces; meaningful glances where everything he’d always wanted to say but never quite had the nerve to hung in the air, thick and silent between them. They would promise to visit, to stay in touch — but what would begin as a weekly email and occasional text message would turn into monthly, and before they know it a year will have gone by without contact. In this future he’s miserable, lamenting his stupidity — his _turtle-like_ tendencies — as he buries himself in his work, trying desperately — futilely — to forget. Until one day, when he can’t possibly stand the distance for one more second, he’ll show up at her door, only it will be far, _far_ too late.

He paces anxiously between the expanse of floor between his living room and kitchen for so long that he wouldn’t be surprised if he worried a hole straight through to the apartment below. The clock that had been unceremoniously keeping time in the background now read 3:45am, but Jack felt like he could run a marathon, his skin itching all over with the desperate urge to _move_ — to do something — _anything_. He felt keyed-up; wired; nervous; on edge. Nothing could be worse than the overbearing sound of silence in his apartment as he did nothing but run out the clock.

He didn’t think about what he was doing — he just _moved_ — and before he knew what he was doing he’d changed into jogging pants and a fleece jacket, laced up his Nike's, and had headed out the door.

The winter air nipped at his cheeks, and his breath came in little white puffs as he jogged down familiar DC sidewalks, his feet slapping against the pavement in a satisfying rhythm as her face swam in front if his vision.

He remembered saying to her after his heart attack that his life hadn’t flashed before his eyes, but now — _now_ it almost did; in an ironic parody of his words after that awful night, when his heart had stuttered and then stalled, her face and voice his only reassurance as he felt the darkness closing in on him — she was all he could think about. The memories crashed over him like a tidal wave, pulling him under.

He could see it so clearly now, in his mind’s eye — every missed opportunity, and every misstep; the moments where his life had changed dramatically, immovably, _forever_. The stones and bricks and concrete that slotted and fit together building the painful, romantic, almost-tragic story of _them_. Their whole story laid out before him — the little things and the big moments and the words they’d never spoken. Words always bordering on the periphery of what they really _meant_ — as they toed the line, skirting around the edges of their… partnership? Friendship? Relationship?

The most profound relationship of his life.

  
_“I’m Sue Thomas,”_ she’d said, as she barged into his office… Into his life, _“your new ‘special project.’”_  
_“I’m Jack Hudson,”_ he’d just barely managed to croak back, somehow _already_ mesmerized by her.

//

Her hand soft under his as he did his best to comfort her, _“Every time that you touch someone’s life, you make it better… including mine.”_

//

Worried for her life, trying desperately to tell her how important her safety was to him without saying the words he felt beating against his chest, begging to be let out: _You’re everything_ , he could have said — maybe _should_ have said, _the most important person in the world_. The words tumbling out of his mouth, instead, _“…You’re here because we don’t want anything to happen to you…_ I _don’t want anything to happen to you.”_

//

_“There were times this week I had… less than kind thoughts of you,”_ she’d said after he’d deliberately made himself the target of a serial killer, “ _because of the danger you put yourself in. They were mixed in with the times that I was praying for you… Please don’t_ ever _make yourself a target again, or I might take you out.”_

He’d seen it in her eyes every day that week. The desperate, pleading worry, as her gaze tracked his movements, teeth worrying her lower lip. Anxious.

//

But there was one moment… one moment that stood out among all the others. Towering above the rest. A moment that had touched him profoundly — the memory gripping him tight, washing over him at unexpected moments in crashing waves. He remembered it vividly, even now.

Waking up briefly on the ambulance after his heart attack, Sue seated by his head, tear-tracks staining her cheeks as she plead quietly with God under her breath, begging Him not to take Jack away. She’d seen his eyes flutter briefly and leaned forward, her forehead pressing against his — the soft kiss of skin against skin — her voice whispering softly in his ear, _“you’re going to be fine, Jack. I’m right here — I’m not leaving you, I’ll never leave you — and you’re going to be_ fine _.”_ The words had soothed him — and then he’d felt her fingers rake gently, comfortingly through his hair; it was the last thing he could remember before waking up hours later in the hospital.

Like so many other emotionally charged moments between them, they’d never once spoken of it. But he knew that like him, she remembered. There was simply no way to _forget._

He hadn’t planned it, exactly — it hadn’t been a conscious decision — but he was pulled from his reverie when he realized he was standing outside of Sue and Lucy’s apartment building. It was barely 4:30 in the morning, but the soft yellow glow of lamplight spilled out of their third story window all the same.

He stood rooted to the spot, frozen to the pavement beneath his feet, eyes transfixed on the window that he knew led into a living room with a floral patterned couch and pastel colored throw pillows — and a warmth that permeated every inch of the room, inviting you in.

An invisible band he’d felt tightening and tightening and _tightening_ around his ribcage these last three years seemed to contract, constricting his airway painfully, and then finally _(finally)_ snapped. He let out a deep shuddering exhale, suddenly able to breathe like he hadn’t been able to do since… when?

His heart attack? Or the Christmas when they’d swapped identical gifts? Or had it been earlier?

Taking a stroll under glittering DC lights at twilight, during their very first case together? Where they’d swapped stories about their respective Midwestern childhoods over sushi, and he’d first heard that laugh — the _real_ one, where her whole face _lit_ up, shining light into the darkness, the little lines growing soft and fond around her eyes.

He was hit with a sudden clarity — a calm certainty: he had to say something, _today_ , or accept a lifetime of keeping the words locked away in silence. It may have already been too late, but he wouldn’t know unless he at least tried. He needed to do it. He _had_ to do it; rip the band-aid off — come clean about his feelings — and let her do with the information what she would. They very _least_ she deserved from him was the truth. But could he do it?

Could he open his mouth and speak the words he’d forced down for so long? He felt a rock form in the pit of his stomach as he tried to imagine it.

He turned away from her apartment and headed in the direction of a nearby park. He needed to sit down, to think, to make a plan.  
  
_You can do this_ , he told himself over and over. He was an accomplished and decorated FBI agent — he’d been a _sniper_ , for goodness sake — he helped put away all manner of bad guys and terrorists. He’d been _shot!_ Surely this wasn’t that big of a deal in comparison, right?

He wanted to laugh. Who was he trying to fool? This was _everything_. What were all of his accolades, abilities, and accomplishments without _this_?

_This moment could very well shape the rest of your life, Hudson. So maybe try not to screw it up. No pressure._

He sat on a bench just off of the park’s path and waited, trying to string together the right words — something coherent and earnest, but that also, maybe, didn’t reveal quite too much. He thought dimly that he should probably shy away from coming on too strong — and he found himself wishing he had something to write with, even as the discarded, crumpled speeches began to pile up in the waste-paper basket in the corner of his mind.

A chilly December wind rustled the leaves above him, and Jack watched, strangely calm, as the sky began to lighten; oranges and pinks bleeding into the indigo sky.

Since he was waiting for her — watching where the pathway curved around a distant corner — he saw her long before she spotted him.

Her hair was down, and she’d bundled up in her long black coat, a soft blue scarf wrapped around her neck, its tails hanging down loosely in front of her. Levi trotted contently by her side. She was — god, she was just so beautiful.

She smiled softly when she spied him, her eyes going fond even as she cocked her head slightly in something approximating confusion.

He took a deep, steadying breath, standing up as she neared. He pulled together his resolve and what courage he could muster, unwilling to so much as attempt to pretend that this was anything approaching a “chance” meeting.

“Jack?” She said when they’d finally stopped in front of one another, “what uh — what are you doing here?”

“I um… I wanted to talk to you,” he said, signing key words as he spoke.

“Really? About what?”

“About your leaving… and moving… and everything.”

“I see. I should—” she started to say, but Jack cut her off, worried that if he didn’t get out what he wanted to say _now_ that he quite possibly never would.

“Before you say anything,” he said, “can I please tell you what it is I was planning to tell you?”

“Okay,” she agreed with a voice as soft as a whisper, an unreadable expression crossing her face.

“I umm… I was up all night thinking about it," he said, his nerves causing him to sign more clumsily than normal as he spoke, "and, well… I didn’t want you to go without you at least knowing what it was I was thinking. I understand that this is a great, great opportunity for you, and I would never want to stand in the way of your career advancement, but I want you to know, that… I wish you weren’t going. We’re all going to miss you, as a team… and, uhh — I’m gonna miss you, personally… a lot. I just… I just wanted you to know that.”

He barely managed to get the words out. They were honest and yet… still far less than what he actually wanted to say. What he’d intended to say. He could feel the rest lodged painfully in his throat.

“Is that everything?” She asked, voice deep with emotion, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“No,” he managed to choke out, “there’s uh… there’s something else.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Sue… I—” his voice cracked as he struggled to give voice to the words stuck in his windpipe. He glanced away briefly, focusing on a couple in the distance over Sue’s shoulder. Their hair gray, hands clasped between them as they took an early morning stroll through the park — a fuzzy little lap-dog bouncing happily besides them, snapping at leaves that blew in the wind.

That could be them someday, he thought, if only he could get the words to unstick from the back of his throat.

“Jack,” Sue’s voice brought him back to himself, as it so often did, and his eyes locked with hers — a green so deep and understanding — and capable of bringing him to his knees in an instant. Those eyes — honed, trained, always seeing everything around her — all-knowing, almost. He was sure she couldn’t miss the way he struggled now — the emotions he felt written all over his face, plain as day for her to read.

He took a step nearer to her — a small step, but not at all insignificant — as his left hand reached out, seemingly of its own volition, to grab her shoulder gently. It was a gesture he’d made dozens of times before, but then his hand slid slowly down her arm — and suddenly they were in new territory — until his hand reached hers, clasping it tightly in his own.

“Sue… I, uh—” he let out a deep exhale as he felt that all too familiar lurch in his chest — like all the air was being squeezed out of his lungs. It was a sensation he’d grown to associate wholly with the woman standing in front of him.

Her lower lip was caught between her teeth, and she looked, bizarrely, like she was both biting back a grin, and also suppressing the urge to bawl her eyes out. Her face remorseful, almost _guilty_ , as she watched him expectantly — patiently waiting —granting him his request, allowing him to say his piece before she spoke. 

At the sight of her expectant (and dare he think it? almost _hopeful_ ) face, he suddenly knew he could do it — and pulling all his nerve together — and knowing he had everything in the world to gain and literally nothing to lose — he gave her hand one final squeeze before loosening his grip, her fingers sliding out of his. He was going to need his hands for this, not wanting to give her any chance to possibly misunderstand his words.

“I know it’s… unfair of me to lay this on you _now_ , of all times — when I’ve had… so many chances to do this before. And… I’m not asking you to stay, I wouldn’t do that… But, I just… I need you to know that I… really care about you… so much. I—”

The rest of the words died on his lips as her fingers pressed suddenly against his mouth, cutting him off before he could say more. “Jack,” she said quietly, insistently, “stop.”

He nodded mutely - stunned, almost — and she pulled her hand away.

And for one long moment that seemed to stretch itself into an eternity Jack felt a surge of mounting panic, sure that she’d cut him off to prevent him from embarrassing himself any further. That he’d made her uncomfortable — she didn’t feel the same — he’d misread every sign —

— but the moment passed, and instead of dropping her hand back to her side like he expected she would, she brushed his jaw lightly with gentle fingers, before threading them in the hair at the back of his head, pulling his face closer to hers. So, _so_ close. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his; her right hand coming up to rest softly over his anxiously pounding heart, her eyes shut.

He pulled in a deep breath, exhaling heavily at the closeness. The heat of her hand radiating against the skin at the back of his neck, somehow calming every nerve in his body — and then his hands found their way up, up, up, until they were cradling her face between his palms, the pads of one thumb brushing away that single escaped tear where it glistened against her cheek.

Her eyes opened and met his, and he couldn’t help his mind from flashing back to their undercover kiss just one year ago. _Do you trust me_ , he’d whispered the question in the darkened office, her nodded _yes_ the only response they’d had time for before he’d pulled her close, and they’d crashed together in a searing kiss that had left his knees weak and his unstable heart racing. A kiss that felt far more real than it had any right to.

It was the closest they’d ever been, and this was the closest they’d been _since_. Only this was real — emotional and heavy, and utterly devastating — and Jack was rapidly becoming certain, also goodbye.

He brushed another one of her tears away as he leaned forward almost imperceptibly — every intention of recreating that moment in Hillary Kern’s office when—

“Jack,” her voice was soft, reluctant, “I have to tell you something. Before you… before you…” she trailed off, searching his eyes for a moment. What she was looking for he couldn’t say; strength, maybe — or reassurance — but whatever it was she seemed to find it. Her voice steady when she finally spoke.

“I’m not leaving, Jack.”

“You’re what,” he said incomprehensibly.

“I called the recruiter from the New York office before I left the apartment. I told him,” she paused briefly before continuing, “I told him ‘thanks, but I changed my mind.’”

Jack just blinked at her, his mouth hanging slightly open. He found himself suddenly incapable of speech; every word in the English language eluding him.

“I’m not going to New York, Jack,” she said simply, “I’m staying in DC.”

“You’re… staying?” He said when he’d finally regained access to the language centers of his brain.

“Yes,” she said, watching with a tremulous smile as the news slowly sank in. Several emotions crossing his face in rapid succession, before finally settling on something strongly resembling _relief_. Though there was still the obvious question lingering behind his eyes.

“Why?”

“I realized,” she drew in a deep breath, “I had far too many reasons to stay. There are more important things than career advancement, Jack; family, friendship… _love_. I was laying in bed last night, just… staring at the ceiling, and I realized,” she paused to brush a lock of flyaway hair behind her ear, “I took the offer for all the wrong reasons. I wasn’t looking forward to it — I was dreading it, in fact… I just—” Jack watched as she clearly struggled to put something into words, her hands twisting nervously together in front of her. “It just didn’t feel… right,” she said eventually.

Jack felt certain that this wasn’t what she’d really intended to say, but he didn’t blame her for taking the safe, familiar route. This was just what they did. What they’d always _done_. Creeping closer and closer to the line, so close sometimes that they could literally stand on the edge of it, lean slightly over to peer down the side of the cliff. Heart pounding adrenaline flooding the system, palms sweating. The fall would be exhilarating, but would they survive the landing?

He had to believe they would.

_She wasn’t leaving._  
_She wasn’t leaving._  
_She wasn’t leaving._

He could scarcely wrap his head around the fact. She wasn’t leaving the team. She wasn’t leaving _him_.

Abruptly, the future opened up before his eyes, bright and full, and practically _humming_ with possibility. There would be more breakfast “dates” before work. More late nights poring over case files in his apartment, as they dueled with chopsticks over the last of the take-out egg rolls. More moonlit strolls through DC parks. More… _everything_.

Life could, theoretically, continue on as it had for the past three years.

She would still be here tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that, and the tomorrow after that, and the next, and the next, and the _next_. A week from now, a month from now, a year from now.

His throat felt suddenly tight. It wasn’t _now or never_ anymore. Nothing had to change. There was time, again. The unspecified possibility of forever.

He felt unexpectedly tired at the thought. Weary. He raked his fingers through his uncombed hair, gaze fixed on her face.

There was something brimming in her eyes. Something wet and almost… _pleading_. Begging him to say something. To _do_ something.

In so many ways Sue was far braver than he was. But not with this. Never with this.

They might both be guilty of dancing right up to the edge — of dropping hints of deeper feelings — but he’d always known that when it came right down to it, he was going to have to be the one. She was never going to admit it first.

She’d never explicitly said so, but she’d revealed clues enough that he got the message. That she’d never had good luck in the romantic sphere — that she was, in some ways, fairly inexperienced. Hesitant. Reticent. He’d always gotten the feeling that there was a painful breakup somewhere in her past — a wound that, while healed, had left her wary of being hurt again.

He wasn’t sure how long they’d gone without speaking. It could have been mere seconds, and it could have been an eternity.

He sighed.

He couldn’t do it, he realized. He couldn’t go back to pretending that he felt less than he did. Pandora’s box had been opened. It was too late now — words had already passed his lips, expanding in the water of the air so that now they would never, ever fit back in the box. He couldn’t make them if he tried.

He reached out slowly, giving her every chance to back away, and when she didn’t his thumb brushed softly — tenderly, lovingly, reverently — against the delicate line of her jaw.

“ _Sue_ ,” he tried to whisper, but his throat was dry and made no sound.

She reached a hand up, palm pressing against the back of his hand, leaning her face just slightly into his touch, chasing the feeling.

She blinked glistening green eyes up at him — her gaze as deep and treacherous as the sea, dragging him down into her currents, drowning him. Trained over a lifetime to emote, he saw so much in those expressive eyes — fondness and understanding and—

Soft, tentative fingers found his face, and he felt his heart thud strong and loud and fast against his chest. She brushed her fingers at his hairline, a stroke across his brow, a line traced down the bridge of his nose. Then down, down, until a thumb grazed tenderly, hesitantly, against his lips.

“Jack.” She whispered—

They met somewhere in the middle — finally, _finally_ — in a sweet, close mouthed kiss.

He couldn’t say who had moved first, if it had been her or him, or if they’d simply had the idea at the same exact time. He wasn’t sure it mattered, either.

They separated just slightly, briefly, as they probed the other's expression, gauging reactions, before they moved in again for a kiss that was far less chaste than the first.

Her mouth opened under his, and Jack’s heart hammered away quick and heavy in a way that, he thought dimly, couldn’t possibly be good for someone with his condition.

Her fingers were on his cheeks, brushing against his temples, tangled in his hair. Her breath hot and sweet, fanning against his face as they broke apart and then came back together again.

Eventually, after a long moment, they separated, their eyes shut and foreheads pressed together, shaky breaths exhaled in the small space between them as the sheer magnitude and the — the absolute _rightness_ of it all sank it.

His hands were turned palm up between them now, her fingers curled around his.

“Wow,” he said, voice nearly a whisper, when their faces were finally far enough apart that she could read his lips again.

“Yeah,” She agreed, smiling softly, but the moment was dampened slightly when he saw the worry steal over her face. “Jack,” she said, and he knew what she was going to say before she said it, “what about the rules? The FBI I won’t—”

He gave her fingers what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll figure it out.”

“But—”

“-I promise,” he said, “we’ll figure it out.” And he meant it, more than anything he meant it. Now, in this moment, it seemed like a ridiculous reason (or, maybe it had merely been an excuse?) not to tell her how he felt.

“Okay,” she said, a small smile back on her face.

And for the longest moment they just… stared at one other. But unlike so many of the emotionally significant moments they’d shared before, this time he didn’t have to feel awkward; he didn’t have to clear his throat and look suddenly away; didn’t need to remind himself that he was supposed to be hiding his feelings. It was more or less out in the open now, and they could just… look at each other, for as long as they wanted.

“So,” he said eventually, trying not to grin like an idiot and failing spectacularly. “Would you like to go to dinner? Tomorrow night?”

“What…” she said, “like a date?

“Exactly like a date.”

“I don’t know, Jack,” she said, a familiar teasing glint in her eye, “I’ll have to think about it.”

He just smiled in response.

  
They did have dinner the next night, exactly like a date. And it was a better first date than either of them had imagined it would be (and let’s not kid ourselves, they’d imagined it a _lot_ ). A wonderful, idyllic, nearly perfect first date — the last first date of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> Recently, as I rewatched the very last scene of the very final episode, it occurred to me that there is no way in the universe Jack would want to have that conversation there: in the public hallway of the J. Edgar Hoover building. Still so painfully unaware that she’s decided to stay, thinking this might be his last chance to say everything he’s been on the verge of saying for three years, as clerks and agents and rotors bustle about them on every side, the very opposite of private. Jack, who’s signature move is the “chance encounter,” choosing to have that conversation there? I don’t think so. And then Sue opens her mouth, and practically the first thing she does is offer up the information that she’d been too busy to walk Levi that morning, sealing my new headcanon in stone. That Jack had definitely been waiting for her at the park where she usually walked Levi that morning, and for once, she hadn’t been there.


End file.
